


waves against a stormy coast

by neptune (poseidon)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Bad Mythological Chronology, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Lestrade as Poseidon, M/M, Mycroft as Athena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:05:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poseidon/pseuds/neptune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an all-powerful deity is, for a lack of a better word, <i>boring</i>. At least, according to Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waves against a stormy coast

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4886863), but can be read as a standalone.

Being an all-powerful deity is, for lack of a better word,  _boring._  At least, according to Mycroft. The novelty of the power, the worship, the extreme devotion and sacrifices - it wears off sooner than one would expect, and all of a sudden, one finds oneself settling petty disputes between other gods or interfering in mortal affairs.

The two weren't mutually exclusive: the last argument was between Sherlock and Ares, and it resulted in immortality for all soldiers for over a year until Hestia managed to calm the rivaling parties down.

(Mycroft steered clear of that whole debacle, though Hermes informed him of new developments as they progressed.)

Mummy was a strong proponent of "getting involved with the subjects" (as she put it) and was probably the cause of most - if not  _all –_ of the unrest caused by gods unto the mortal world. She was also fond of encouraging others to do the same.

This was how Mycroft found himself facing down against Poseidon in a battle of the wits to decide –

“Why are we here, exactly?” Poseidon asked.

“You said you wanted to have a city named after you,” Sherlock said. “And so here we are, in pleasant Cecropia, where some stupid mortal will decide if the city should be named after you or _him_.” He pointed at Mycroft, sneering ever so slightly.

Poseidon frowned, scratching his chin. “Hang on, I never said that – you did! Why don’t you just get Molly to do this for you? Or just do it yourself.”

“Molly is busy with the oncoming harvest and no one wants to name their city after me, the God of the Underworld,” Sherlock said.

“Why do you care if he gets the city named after him?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Just go present your gift to the city.”

“But I don’t have a gift!” Poseidon protested, as Sherlock left to return to his realm. He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, giving Mycroft a sheepish look. “Well, as you could probably guess, I don’t actually _want_ this city. I’ve got plenty of worshipers – what mortals need more than the sea is some wisdom, yeah?” He tried for a smile, which Mycroft pointedly did not return.

“If you’re not interested, then you might as well return to your underwater realm and let me claim my prize.” While Mycroft didn’t _want_ Cecropia named after himself, that did not mean the opportunity of having all those worshipers for himself wasn’t… enticing.

However, instead of agreeing with him and leaving, Poseidon let out a laugh. “Just because I’m not interested, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. I mean, I’m all the way here now, might as well make use of my time.”

 _Well. That plan failed._ Mycroft let out a scoff and strode up the hill to meet Cecrops and the other citizens of his future city – for this would be _his_ future city and _not_ the city of the God of the Sea when the city was barely close to any body of water. No, this city would worship Athena and he already had the perfect gift.

Poseidon trailed not far behind him, and Mycroft ignored the increase in applause when the other god began waving at the assembled crowd, crossing his arms and feeling incredibly bored.

Cecrops slithered to the two gods, gesticulating wildly as he made his speech. Mycroft ignored his ramblings until Poseidon stepped forward and struck his trident into the ground. Water gushed forward and sprung out, trickling down the hill as he spoke.

“People of Cecropia,” he said, voice booming like the crashes of waves against the coast, “if you will allow me to be the patron of your city, I will provide you with all the water you may desire and there will be no time when your crops fail from drought.”

 _Damn_ , thought Mycroft. Poseidon was smarter than expected: the majority of the citizens were in agriculture; of _course_ water would appease them. His gift would pale in comparison. There _had_ to be something…

 _Wait a moment._ He bent down by the spring and cupped some water in his hands, taking a small sip and promptly spitting it out. “This is not fresh water, it’s _salt_ water – water from the sea. It’s undrinkable and would in no way benefit you. Unlike _my_ gift.”  He pulled out a seed, dropping it on the floor, away from Poseidon’s now-faltering spring, and stepping back as he watched it grow and blossom into a fully-grown olive tree.

“Now, _my_ gift will provide you with –”

“Oh, I get it!” Poseidon quickly said, nodding. “Yeah, you get oil and olives to sell and eat, and then you’ve got some firewood for the winter. _Much_ more useful than my useless water.”

Mycroft blinked. “Yes, that’s – that is what I was just about to explain…” He cleared his throat and tried not to look too smug when he was crowned victorious.

“You won the city over Poseidon?” Hermes would ask him later.

“It wasn’t much of a fight,” Mycroft would admit, and leave it at that.

* * *

Gaining Cecropia – or rather, Athens, as it was now called – did him wonders in terms of sacrifices and worshipers: festivals were conducted in his honor, more temples dedicated to him. The only unforeseen side-effect was that, somehow, he’d been perceived as one of the virgin gods.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Hermes assured him when he found out. “Very noble cause – in fact, Artemis, one of the most sought-after gods – has refused to bed anyone.”

“That’s not my problem,” Mycroft said. “I just don’t know where these mortals got these ridiculous ideas from.”

Hermes shrugged. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve never sired any heroes?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “A hero’s actions prove his worth, not his lineage,” he said. Then, in a more thoughtful tone, he added, “I suppose it isn’t _entirely_ a bad perception of me. It would prove that logic and wisdom are clearly superior to love and carnal passions – and I wouldn’t have to succumb to either.”

“Well there you go then,” Hermes said with a slight smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me – there is this one lovely mortal woman who has caught my eye, and I must go see her.”

Mycroft sighed and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Yes, it would be rather pleasant to be rid of any interaction with that sort of behavior.

Perhaps that was why the situation was that much more awkward when he discovered one of his mortal priestesses and _Poseidon_ – of all people – having sex in his temple.

His punishment was swift and fierce. Medusa would be turned into a hideous Gorgon creature and whosoever laid eyes on her would be turned to stone. (Eventually, he would have a hero kill her, but that matter would be settled later.) He watched her run out of the temple and into the night before fixing his cold gaze on Poseidon.

“What did you do that for?” Poseidon asked with a frown.

Mycroft scoffed. “What did _I_ do? This is _my_ temple you were desecrating!”

“ _Your_ temple?” Poseidon raised a brow. “I could’ve sworn this was one of mine. That statue looks a lot like me…”

“Maybe if you spent less time underwater, you might have noticed that the statue is _not_ carrying a trident but rather a staff – _my_ staff.”

Poseidon looked at it for a few moments before the frown returned. “If that was your only problem, you should’ve just told us and we’d be on our way.”

“On your way?” Mycroft couldn’t believe it – was he really _that_ stupid? “Medusa broke her vow of chastity and violated my temple.”

“Vow of what?” Poseidon asked, somehow looking _more_ confused.

“Chastity,” Mycroft repeated. “They don’t call me _Athena Parthenos_ for nothing.”

Poseidon blinked, and something passed through his face. “You’re… a virgin god?”

“Have you seen me take any lover or consort?” Mycroft asked.

“No, actually, I haven’t,” Poseidon said. He looked at him for a few moments before shaking his head. “I, uh, apologize for violating your priestess and your temple. It won’t happen again.” He stepped past him without a second look and right out, leaving Mycroft alone with his thoughts.

* * *

“I still can’t understand why you’re so interested in this,” Hermes said as she passed over the scrolls.

“Call it a professional curiosity,” Mycroft replied, and he sat down to read them over.

“A professional curiosity regarding the lovers and children of the God of the Sea?” Hermes asked.

“It’s not like I can experience it first-hand,” he pointed out with a huff. “I just want to know how many have fallen for the charms of the great Gaiēochos.”

She gave him a pointed look, stifling a smirk as she left.

There was (unsurprisingly) _much_ on the subject of Poseidon’s consorts and lovers. The scrolls went on and on about the various mortals he’d wooed and how they bore him powerful children. A few, he provided for in return: Alope, whose father had her buried alive, was turned into a spring of water (presumably fresh – which was odd, considering how he couldn’t manage that during their dispute over Athens); Amymone was rescued from a satyr attempting to rape her and found the healing waters of Lerna; Caeneus was transformed into a male warrior after their encounter; and Cleito, living alone on an island, was granted all the sanctuary Poseidon could offer.

The rest of them were a bit too dull for Mycroft to suffer reading through. It wasn’t until the end that something caught his eye.

“Hermes?” he called out.

She appeared by his side a few moments later, raising a brow. “Yes?”

“I believe there's a misprint here,” he said. “Here, the consort’s name is listed as ‘Nerites’.”

Hermes leaned over and shook her head. “No, that’s how you spell his name.”

“It’s not the spelling,” Mycroft huffed, “it’s the name itself. Nerites identifies as male.”

She raised a brow. “Yes. And your point is?”

“… Nothing,” Mycroft said after a moment. “I was just making sure.”

Hermes looked at him skeptically, before leaving once again.

* * *

“Mycroft, fancy seeing you here,” Persephone – _John_ , as he insisted on being called, now that they were in-laws – greeted him. “Do you want to come in for some tea or something? There’s these flowers Sherlock and I found and –”

“Another time, perhaps,” Mycroft quickly said. “I’m just here on a small inquiry. You are closely acquainted with Poseidon, correct?”

John nodded. “Yeah. He’s a friend of Sherlock’s and he gets water down to the Underworld for me.”

Mycroft nodded. “I see. Tell me, what kind of water does he provide – salt or fresh?”

“Fresh, of course.” John’s brow furrowed, before a wave of understanding dawned on him and he gave Mycroft a knowing smirk. “Oh, I get it – you want to know why he lost the contest so easily.”

Mycroft scoffed. “Nonsense. He told me he was disinterested in the city.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have enjoyed having a whole city devoted to him – any god would, even Sherlock,” John pointed out. “All he had to do was make a freshwater spring, and the city would’ve been his. Except he didn’t.”

“The only reason I came here was to see the depths of Poseidon’s incompetence,” Mycroft said firmly. “It does not matter to me what his reasoning was for not making a freshwater spring.”

“Yes it does,” John said. “You know, he told me that he thought you look very _cute_ when you won the city over.”

Mycroft blinked, and then blinked again. “That’s ridiculous. I am a virgin god – he has no chance with me.”

John only shrugged. “Weirder things have happened – Molly, just a while back, gave birth to a _talking horse_.”

“I believe I see your point,” Mycroft said after a moment’s consideration. “Nevertheless, I don’t think I’ll have a consort anytime soon.”

“Who knows – you might find a reason to get one,” John smiled.

* * *

That did not happen immediately.

“ _This_ is why I will remain a virgin god,” Mycroft sighed to himself.

“I don’t care what you say. I stand by what I did,” Apollo responded with an indignant huff.

“What you did was incredibly stupid, Sebastian,” Artemis said, slapping the back of his head.

“I’m inclined to agree with your sister,” Mycroft said. “This was not to be Cassandra’s fate, and yet you gifted her with prophecy and then tried to force yourself on her.”

“That was our agreement!” Apollo crossed his arms, scowling at him. “I would give her this gift, and she would give herself to me.”

“That is a terrible agreement,” Artemis said. “She didn’t want the gift in the first place and you cannot force yourself on any maiden – or, for that matter, _anyone_ – in that manner!”

“Oh, shut up, Mary, I don’t need you on my case, too,” he said, turning back to Mycroft. “And besides, I’ve fixed my mess. No one’s ever going to believe what she says, and she’ll go mad with knowledge.”

“That is a very loose definition of ‘fix’,” Mycroft mumbled under his breath. He cleared his throat. “I will see what the consequences are, and this conversation is far from over. Now just… go.”

He waited until they’d gone before rubbing his forehead with a soft groan. Stupid gods who couldn’t control themselves, going around and having sex and ruining everyone’s life. Why did they try to make his life a living hell – Sherlock was more than capable of doing that on his own, down in the literal Underworld.

“You know, if I was still responsible for the oracle, this would never have happened,” Poseidon said from behind him.

Mycroft turned around and quickly composed himself. “The problem could easily have been avoided if he could only control himself and not go after one of his own priestesses – something you’ve already done.”

“That’s… not entirely false,” Poseidon conceded. “But I wouldn’t have forced myself onto her, though. Doesn’t that give me _something_ over him?”

 Mycroft hesitated for a slight moment. “I… I suppose it does, yes.”

Poseidon gave him a smile and Mycroft turned away when he felt the heat rise to his face. Ridiculous – he shouldn’t be reacting in any way. All he did was admit to the fact that Poseidon was better than Apollo – and it wasn’t that hard to admit. This was just a fluke.

That’s all. A fluke.

* * *

The fluke repeated itself a while later, after the judgement of Paris on Mount Ida where he crowned Aphrodite as the fairest.

“Do not fret, my dear,” Mycroft said to Hermes. “I think you should have been chosen as the fairest.”

“Oh, no, I don’t care about any of that,” she said. “I just _really_ wanted that apple.”

Mycroft let out a chuckle and watched as Poseidon helped Demeter out of the springs before walking over to him. “Wasn’t that a ridiculous contest, huh?”

“Yes, quite,” Mycroft replied. “Aphrodite has the benefit of being the Goddess of Love – as well as the Charites and the Horai – to charm Paris and influence his decision.” He shook his head and tsked. “Love makes fools of us all.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Aphrodite came up to them, winking at Poseidon.

Poseidon’s face flushed and Mycroft felt incredibly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“I am sure about that,” he told her. “Paris will go and steal Helen from Menelaus and Menelaus will retaliate by attacking Troy and it will surely result in bloodshed.”

“I’m sure Ares will be looking forward to that,” she replied. “After all, he’s been going on and on about how he owes us a long and bloody war.”

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Actually, Irene, there’s something I don’t get,” Poseidon said. “Why did you promise Helen to – well, someone like Paris. I mean, he’s… not that impressive. At all.”

“No, he’s not,” she agreed. “But, then again, I didn’t exactly promise her to him, now did I? I just gave him my blessings to take her from Menelaus.”

Poseidon looked even more confused. “Then – who did you promise Helen to?”

Aphrodite only smirked, and suddenly it clicked for Mycroft.

“Oh, I see,” he mumbled quietly. “Quite… clever of you, I must admit. And rather kind.”

“Logic and wisdom isn’t the only way around here,” she said, directing her wink at Mycroft before walking away.

“I still don’t get it,” Poseidon admitted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mycroft said. “Menelaus will still raise an army to go after his wife. It’s still going to end in bloodshed on all sides.”

“Yeah, I suppose it will,” Poseidon shrugged. He patted Mycroft’s arm and gave him a parting smile as he left, and Mycroft couldn’t shake the warmth of his hand hours later.

* * *

While Mycroft was a virgin god, he still found himself attracted to certain mortals for their mental and, yes, _physical_ qualities. Which is why, during what was being referred to as the ‘Trojan War’, he started watching over Odysseus.

He was incredibly intelligent and cunning, and his strategic planning of battles and sieges was something Mycroft could watch for hours (which was, from time to time, how long these planning meetings lasted). The fact that he was also rather muscular and ruggedly handsome was simply a bonus.

So when the gods began to openly declare their support for either the Achaeans or the Trojans, Mycroft considered coming out in support of the side of Odysseus.

He hadn’t made his decision final yet when Poseidon came to visit him, hair wet and robes soaked.

“You’re wet,” Mycroft said, and mentally cursed himself for being so obtuse.

“I was in a hurry,” Poseidon said, running a hand though his hair. His robe clung to his chest and left little to the imagination.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “What do you need?”

“I hear from Hermes that you’re thinking of siding with the Achaeans for this war,” he said. “She says that you’ve, uh, ‘taken a liking’ to Odysseus.”

“Whether I do or do not is none of your concern,” Mycroft said.

“No, I – I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Poseidon said quickly. “You got a mortal you favor on that side. I do too.”

This, Mycroft was not expecting. “Really, now?” he raised a brow.

“Yeah. Patroclus – friend of Achilles. Well, I say ‘friend’, when it’s a little closer than that, you know?”

“I am aware,” Mycroft replied. “After all, I _am_ the God of Wisdom.”

Poseidon let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I know,” he smiled.

Mycroft swallowed hard. “So, you are proposing we side with the Achaeans while Aphrodite and Apollo side with the Trojans?”

Poseidon nodded. “Let’s give them a bit of a fighting chance, you know?”

“Fine,” Mycroft said. “I see no reason not to. We won’t intervene directly unless the other gods do so – better to maintain the high ground as long as we can until Zeus decides this is a matter the mortals should decide first. Thank you for coming by, Poseidon.”

“Lestrade,” he replied.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you’re always formal and all, but if we’re going to be working together, you might as well call me Lestrade, instead of Poseidon.”

He did have a point. “Fine,” Mycroft said. “Thank you… Lestrade.”

“No problem, Mycroft,” he said with a smile like a beacon out in the dark, desolate sea, and Mycroft forced himself to think about Odysseus leading his troops into battle to stop blushing.

* * *

They grew closer during the first nine years of the war, commenting on the battles from afar as they took place.

“Odysseus seems to be doing well,” Poseidon – _Lestrade_ , Mycroft mentally corrected – commented, smirking lightly. “Look at him, planning their next attack.”

“He’s a marvelous strategist,” Mycroft said with a hum. “All of his plans seemed to have worked so far. I don’t see Patroclus planning anything, now do I?”

Lestrade scoffed. “Just you wait – he’s going to do something astounding and kill someone major. Like Hector or Paris.”

“Oh yes, and you will swoon and Achilles will take him in his arms and do all sorts of things with him in your honor,” Mycroft said sarcastically.

“As long as they find my temple and not yours, right?” he winked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and smiled when Lestrade wasn’t looking.

“Just because you’ve apologized for it, it doesn’t mean you have to make jokes about it now,” he pointed out.

“I know,” Lestrade said. “But it if it makes you smile like that again, I’ll keep doing it.”

He shot him a grin, and Mycroft could barely hide his smile in return. _Maybe he isn_ _’t so awful after all._

* * *

Patroclus died in the tenth year of the war, and Lestrade retreated to his underwater abode.

For once, Mycroft didn’t belittle him for his attraction. He’d have a similar reaction if Odysseus had been killed, though it may have been significantly more violent than Lestrade’s. He didn’t go and console him, however, keeping his attention focus on the Trojan War as it ended.

Odysseus came up with the plan that led to the sack of Troy, and the horse itself was dedicated to Mycroft. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as the hidden soldiers revealed themselves and began their attacks.

For a brief moment, he considered going and telling Lestrade that they’d won, but then he found Ajax the Lesser in his temple with Cassandra.

He felt no remorse when he used Mummy’s lightning bolt to strike down his ship, and by then, Odysseus was on his way back to Ithaca and he had to make sure he returned home safely, and all thoughts of Poseidon were pushed out of his head.

* * *

Mycroft only realized the consequences of helping Odysseus escape the clutches of Polyphemus when Lestrade found him right after it happened.

“What the _fuck_ were you _thinking_?” he said, and though his voice was level, Mycroft could hear the crashing waves of a hurricane behind them. “Blinding him was bad enough but then you had to go and fucking _insult_ him?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “I did not assist Odysseus in any way when he –”

“That is fucking bullshit and you know it,” Lestrade snapped. “You have feelings for Odysseus – it’s blatantly obvious – and while I’m away, you help him blind my son and make him out to be a fool!”

“Your son would have –” Mycroft tried to retort but Lestrade continued talking.

“I don’t care what he would’ve done – you could have just come and asked me to help you out but _no_ , you had to go out and do it all yourself,” he said, fingers clenching into fists as the smell of brine filled the air. “You know, I tried to be nice to you, tried to become friends with you, apologized to you countless of times for that mess with Medusa, but all you ever do is push me away and treat me like scum. So I’m going to put a fucking curse on Odysseus and make sure he _never_ reaches home!”

He looked at Mycroft with wild, furious eyes like the restless sea and Mycroft thought back to when they’d first met and how Lestrade first smiled at him and how they’d talked above battles together and how he made him laugh –

 _Well,_ thought Mycroft, _this might be the_ worst _moment to realize that I_ _’m rather…_ _smitten_. _So much for being the God of Wisdom._

He watched Lestrade stomp away, each step shaking the ground with a loud rumble, and let out a heavy breath.

* * *

“The curse on Odysseus has been lifted,” Hermes told him one morning.

“Are you sure?” Mycroft asked.

Hermes nodded. “He’s on a ship back to Ithaca right now. There’s some discord right now regarding his wife Penelope and all these suitors – you should probably go down and help him sort it out.”

“Yes, I should,” Mycroft said. But there was something he needed to do first.

* * *

It was his first time in Lestrade’s realm, and to say it was beautiful was an understatement. He could’ve spent years watching the underwater life move about outside the windows, but that would have to wait for another time.

Amphitrite led him through the palace and to Lestrade’s chambers. “He spoke about you from time to time, but never mentioned your name after what Odysseus did,” she told him.

“What I did was… not good,” Mycroft said and they remained silent for the rest of the journey. She led him up to the door and turned around, leaving him alone to knock.

“Come in,” Lestrade called out.

Mycroft took a deep breath and stepped inside. Lestrade was lounging on his throne, skimming through a scroll, and he looked up with a small frown. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me,” Mycroft said, and for the first time in a long while, he was genuinely nervous. “I… wanted to thank you for lifting the curse on Odysseus.”

Lestrade shrugged. “I thought that after about ten years, he might’ve learned his lesson and there was no point in punishing him any longer.”

Mycroft nodded. There was an awkward silence as Lestrade looked at him and he looked at Lestrade until, finally, Lestrade raised a brow and said, “Is there, uh, something else you want to say?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “I would also like to… to apologize. I was too caught up with getting Odysseus to Ithaca safely and completely disregarded any consequences. I also ignored you after Patroclus’ death, despite knowing how you felt about him, and for that, I am sorry.”

Lestrade looked down at him for a few moments. “I guess you were right,” he said with a slight smile. “Love does make fools of us all.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Mycroft said. “If I didn’t have feelings for you, I wouldn’t have come to apologize.”

“You weren’t planning on apologizing?” Lestrade asked, before his eyes widened. “Wait, you – what?”

 _Shit. I said that out loud._ “I, er…” Mycroft felt his cheeks burn. “Well, we… we grew close, during the war, and John already told me what you’d said after the naming of Athens so I had already briefly entertained the idea…”

“You like me,” Lestrade said.

Mycroft licked his lips. “I… Yes, I suppose I do.”

“You like me, and you’ve waited _how long_ to tell me?” he climbed out of his seat and crossed his arms with a judgmental look.

“You were furious at me,” Mycroft said.

“Because you refused to apologize,” Lestrade reminded him. “And now, a _decade_ later, you come by to say you’re sorry.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted to see me,” Mycroft admitted.

“Of _course_ I wanted to see you! All you had to do was apologize and we would’ve worked it out,” Lestrade said. “I wasn’t particularly attached to Polyphemus, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It sounds like you’re taking back your apology,” Mycroft said.

“No, I’m not,” Lestrade said. “I’m glad you apologized and I’m happier to learn that you like me.”

“Well… good,” Mycroft nodded.

Lestrade nodded as well, and he took a tentative step forward, before shaking his head and cupping Mycroft’s cheeks and suddenly kissing him.

Mycroft froze, for a moment, before slowly relaxing into it and closing his eyes. Lestrade tasted of salt and seaweed and while it would take some getting used to, Mycroft found he didn’t really mind it. They pulled apart not long after, breathing rather heavily.

“I guess you’re not a virgin god anymore, huh?” Lestrade smirked.

“Technically, I still am,” Mycroft said, “but I’m sure we could rectify that some other day.”

Lestrade snorted, shaking his head with a grin. “And Sherlock says you don’t have a sense of humor.”

“Sherlock says a lot of ridiculous things about me,” Mycroft smiled. “But I really must be getting to Ithaca. There’s some mess with Odysseus’ wife that apparently I have to resolve.”

“I’ve never been more simultaneously upset and glad that Odysseus has a wife,” Lestrade hummed. “Sad that you have to go, and glad that you won’t stay for long… You _will_ be coming back, right?”

“I suppose the smart answer would be ‘yes’, now wouldn’t it?” Mycroft asked.

Lestrade shrugged. “You’re the God of Wisdom, not me,” he said teasingly and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

Mycroft nodded and turned to leave, still smiling. There was definitely something to the whole caving-in-to-your-more-human-desires, as it turned out, and he rather liked it.


End file.
